


Run

by LauraDoloresIssum



Series: Dying Light [7]
Category: Dying Light (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23005576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraDoloresIssum/pseuds/LauraDoloresIssum
Summary: With Crane getting weaker, the dyad takes a scenic trip out to the far West part of the Slums to gather any survivors who may be left. Kyle finally starts using his relationship with the GRE to his advantage.
Series: Dying Light [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1409179
Kudos: 8





	Run

They were up just before dawn. The sky promised clean, cooling summer showers. Kyle sighed with happiness as he and Crane stepped out of the stink of the Tower. Timur spared a quick thumbs-up and locked the reinforced door behind them.

“‘I just wanted to tell you both good luck’,” said Kyle aloud in English as they jogged a little in place. “‘We’re all counting on you.’”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Crane cinched his belt a bit tighter. He looked pale, like he had the flu. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

They ran.

The feeling was always incredible. They clambered through the gap in the razor-topped barricades into the unsecured street to the west. Kyle slid baseball-style through a crowd of confused zombies, feeling mud rocket its way up the back of his clothes, and without a pause ran up a nearby ramp to fling himself onto a roof. Crane vaulted a walker and landed next to him. They took off in synchronicity along the roofs, following the routes the vanguards had marked. A nearby awning had been marked with the symbol that meant “Unstable”, and they avoided it.

A zombie-filled street was next. Everyone hated this one.

Crane dropped down and used the jagged line of sedans like stepping stones, dodging the walkers as they tried to pin him down. Kyle could see him swaying like he was dizzy.

“Excuse me! Sorry! Out of the way!” he said not quite loudly enough to be heard by any dormant Ferals, elbowing zombies out of the way. They turned toward him, distracted from Crane’s careful sway from car to car. Hands reached for him. Jaws snapped inches from his mask.

“No! No!” He emphasized each choked yell with a swing from a bladed pipe. Half-beheaded zombies dropped to the ground. It was sickening how easily their flesh fell apart. “I do not want to buy any accoutrements, accessories, or other merchandise from your store today!”

He made it to the other side, beating away clutching fingers. Crane was leaning down from the roof. Kyle grabbed his extended hand and pulled himself up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

It took about another hour to get to the safezone. They were in sight of it when Kyle stopped in the middle of a roof. He recognized this street. The bite on the side of his face ached particularly strongly looking at it.

“Hold on. I have a really shitty idea.”

“That café’s been blown apart.”

“No, a different shitty idea. Come with me. It’s just a block out of our way.”

His parachute, muddy and windblown, was still hanging from the streetlamp. The zombies had been trapped in a nearby alley. Kyle searched in the mud below the wrecked awning. The dead Feral, its head impaled on a piece of rebar. How had he done that? He didn’t even remember.

There was his GRE suit, torn to shreds, but the stuff that had been in the pockets was still scattered around. He brushed mud off his old iPod and hid it away from the rain. God, why had he been stupid enough to take _this_? It would be a miracle if it still worked. He searched around. Aha.

There was a little bag that had fallen off, right next to his helmet. He picked up the water bottle. Still pure, from the looks. And the hiking food he had brought. Bars, trail mix.

“Hey. I got you a present.” He turned away from the look in Crane’s eyes and went to get his parachute. By the time he slid back down the pole, it had all disappeared.

They sat on the curb for a few minutes, Crane clutching his stomach.

“How are you feeling?”

“It hurts a lot. Makes it hard to think straight.”

Kyle shaded his eyes from the spots of sun coming between the rapidly-moving clouds. It was starting to rain in earnest. “Can you make it to the safezone?”

“Yeah, but I can’t run.”

They walked slowly, their feet scuffing trash, hopping over the skins of old tires and rings of barbed wire from broken street barricades. A lot of the narrow streets like this one had been reinforced by the military, before the Flood really got going.

They clambered over the hole in the top of the fence and dropped into the safezone. Rahim waved to them from inside the supply shed, where he was filling the genny with their quickly dwindling supply of gasoline. Clearly this was going to be a rendezvous point for a late run. Crane sat on a swing until it seemed he had his breath back. Then they climbed back over the fence and went on their way.

The safezones were generally an hour to an hour and a half apart. They couldn’t possibly keep enough places secured to riddle the Slums with boltholes. You had to plan and supply your trips carefully, and rely on the safezones for only a few minutes to catch your breath or relieve yourself, lest you push your timetable too far back and risk getting caught after dark. They didn’t have enough gasoline to supply every one, so most of them were unprotected from the night zombies. Often safezones became broken open or infested. Sometimes Rais’s men broke into them.

About an hour later they stopped in an apartment safezone for a breather. Secured streets were getting thinner and thinner. Two hours after that, they hit the garden, and refilled their water bottles. Yellow safety tape hanging from the barbed wire atop the western wall warned that they had reached the edge of the Tower’s territory. From here, it was nothing but unsecured buildings all the way out to the Wall. It was now pouring heavily enough that it would be dangerous to go sliding around on roofs.

“I’m going to go lie down,” said Crane, rain beading on his red hair. His lips were cracked, and he had begun to bleed gently from the nose and mouth. “Thanks. For the food.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.”

He stumbled into the shed, the parachute bundled under his arm.

Kyle made his rattling way back up another side of the fence, shoes kicking every few inches until he got a hold. He held his arms out and balance-beamed his way a few feet until he was close to an adjoining house. He took a breath, jumped, and caught a metal porch roof, wincing as it pinched him through the climbing gloves. He hauled himself up with his hook, and lay panting on the roof, watching the falling rain detail a vertical infinity.

He held up the satphone toward the sky, his thumb moving on the keypad like he was texting the gods.

“Kyle.” Her voice was even more clipped than usual.

“He published the files, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Yes, he did.”

“Look, I swear, I got to them, I was maybe an hour too late. I’m so sorry.”

“I believe you, Kyle. You did the best you could.” There a rustle like papers. “We need to talk about extracting you.”

“You can’t do it, can you?”

“No. We can’t legally get anyone out until we finish the cure. But it’s soon, Kyle, I promise. I’m looking at the latest update on our progress right now. The timeline is weeks, not months.”

“Assuming you don’t get kicked out of Harran between now and then.” Rain pooled in his mouth. It tasted chemical; he turned to the side and spit it out.

“We already have. The announcement will be made later today. But I’m sure Crane Pharmaceuticals can arrange something with the Ministry.”

“But even if that happens, everyone else is still gonna die.”

There was silence.

“Look, whatever your name is. I know that I’m probably the last person you wanna hear this from.” A squad of military aircraft shot through his field of view. He watched them head directly north. “But don’t deny what happened. Everyone’s gonna expect you to give all the usual lawyer-approved bullshit. Own it. You already have your good cop/bad cop thing going with the Ministry. Lean into it. Say, ‘We did what we did, and we don’t regret it because it was the right thing to do. That’s what we do, we save lives, whatever it takes.’ I know the public will like that maverick shit back home. The GRE and I are both from Chicago, okay, we know that good things can be horribly mismanaged for a long time.”

He heard her chuckle bleakly.

“Your president and your CFO are definitely gonna have to resign in disgrace, but then you’ll have the opportunity to rehire and rebrand, and maybe stay in Harran. And that’s just… my hot take, and I have a favor to ask anyway, but… Hello?”

“Your comments are being noted, Kyle. Give us a moment.”

She put him on hold. There was a long period of silence.

“Alright. I have a short statement here. ‘The GRE prides itself on listening to the people it aids and on creating a deep and lasting bond with local communities worldwide. We—’” There was the sound of a piece of paper being slammed onto a desk. “Is this favor of yours going to do us any good?”

“I dunno, maybe. We got about two hundred refugees that need to be transferred to Old Town. But a lot of them are very sick, and they won’t survive the trip even if we do a way to get there on foot. Can the GRE airlift us there? We can get everybody to that big high-rise you’ve been ignoring and evacuate them from the roof. You can take some nice pictures of smiling women being handed blankets and kids getting Antizin shots. Hell, you can advertise on social media and then livestream the whole thing.”

The silence on the other end told him she was listening.

“Not everyone’s infected. Some can probably be screened and sent home. People will finally get some closure about their relatives. And then once everyone’s out, you can give the Ministry the go-ahead to level the slums. They’ll be happy with you for once, and there’ll finally be visible progress. Look at all the charred zombies, the quarantine’s holding, cure’s around the corner, blah blah blah. I _know_ your PR department’s up for the task.”

She was back to being carefully neutral. “We will consider your suggestion.”

“Look, it might be our only way out of the Slums. It’s been months. The resources here are keyed out and we’re running out of food and water fast. We’re dying to everything from dehydration to fevers. If this goes on much longer there won’t be anyone _to_ evacuate.”

“I said we’ll consider it, Kyle. We’ll be in touch this evening.”

The line went dead.

Back inside the shed, Crane was curled up on the dirty cot. Kyle sat down and put a hand on his arm. His skin was much too warm.

“I’ll be okay.” He coughed up some dried, black blood into one glove. Dried was good; it meant his last dose of Antizin was holding the breach. “Just go to the Wheelstation and come back for me. My stomach will have decided whether or not it wants to throw up by then.”

“Okay,” said Kyle hesitantly. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Don’t die until I get back.”

Crane cracked a grin. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

Kyle shut the door and stared into the rain. His face worked for a few seconds. Then he put it out of his mind. He could do the job, and that was all he could do.

He climbed back over the fence and took off jogging. The running always eased his nerves. From the map, the Wheelstation looked to be another hour away. That was fine. He needed to think.

A zombie stumbled toward him. He grabbed it by the shoulders and used it to launch himself up onto a corrugated metal roof, the water running down it making it dangerously slick. Walkers moaned and heaved in his direction. He glanced at the roofline of an apartment building across the street and wished for a motorized grappling hook.

Four blocks later, the dead were getting thicker and he was getting tired. He climbed the anti-robbery grate on the front door of a bakery and onto a lovers’ balcony. His foot slipped on the wet railing, and he grunted in pain as he caught himself, his legs dangling. Hands tugged at his shoes, and he kicked blindly. He hauled himself up, coughing. No bites.

They congregated below, making mushy gurgles and roars, their hands grasping the edges of the metal but too weak to pull themselves up, leaving their palms lacerated. Kyle squatted, looking through the railing like they were the bars of a cage.

“You think you’re a pandemic,” he said to the nearest milky-eyed, broken-toothed corpse, panting, “but West Nile and HIV just look at you and _laugh_.”

Jaffar’s Wheelhouse used to be a mechanic shop. Now it was the trading center for the handful of tiny nearby shelters. The barricade, rusted and burned-out cars piled atop each other and strung with UV lights, seemed to be intact. There were voices coming from inside, and Kyle relaxed. Survivors glared at Kyle as he threaded his way between them and knocked on the door marked “Manager.”

“What? What?” An older man in grimy overalls yanked the door open. He saw Kyle’s yellow shirt and his eyes widened. “Oh no. No, you aren’t welcome here.”

Kyle held out a hand to keep the door from closing on him. “Wait, please. Rais isn’t here anymore. He left. The Den’s empty.”

“I know. He came and emptied us out before he went. Dismantled everyone’s barricades for scrap while holding us at gunpoint. All my spare vehicle parts, everything! Everyone in the area who’s still alive is here now. There’s nothing left except the gutted cars. We have no painkillers and no food. So go take what you want somewhere else!”

Jaffar slammed the door in his face.

Kyle knocked desperately. “Please! We have space in the Tower, supplies, Antizin! You can come with us!”

There was no response.

“Look, there might not be much time! Have you been listening to the messages from the Ministry?”

The door opened again.

“We don’t have a radio anymore. What do you mean, the Ministry?” Kyle saw that he had finally found a bigger tiger than Rais.

“The world’s found out what the GRE’s been doing here. Everything’s in an uproar. They’ve been kicked out, and Colonel Taner has stepped in.”

Jaffar’s knuckles went white as he gripped the doorway. “So, are they going to rescue us? Is there a… Oh, god.”

“We’re gonna see if we can get the Ministry’s attention. Having everybody in one place means it’ll be easier to evacuate us, if it, ya know, comes to it. And if it turns out Taner _isn’t_ gonna carpet bomb this place… well, we’ll need to survive anyway. The Tower has beds. Solid barricades. We’ve secured whole blocks. We’re going around to everyone in the Slums and gathering them all in one place. Brecken has some ideas about making a real society in this craziness.”

“Oh, does he now? Do they involve cannibalism?” But Jaffar was chewing the inside of his cheek. He was thin too.

“Please,” said Kyle again. “There’s not much I can say to convince you. But I don’t know if we’ll be able to come around again. Rais stripped everything this side of the highway. We won’t have any reason to be back this way.”

Jaffar scoffed. “Fine. Fine. How will we be getting there? Not walking, I hope.”

“We’ll be sending a couple of vans. Gonna be white with chain-link on the windows. Our vanguards will be driving them. It’ll be a tight fit, we don’t have many vehicles and we’ll be stretched thin. How many people do you have?”

“Only fifteen, now. Out of the whole subdistrict. Everyone needs Antizin. Rais took all the healthy ones, and the suppressants we’d paid for too.”

“Okay, can you be ready to leave by then?”

Jaffar gestured around the office with a grunt. Stuff was strewn all over the floor, as though the place had been tossed. “We can be ready right now.”

“You promise you’re not going to rob us when we come?”

“Rob you? With what, our bare hands?” Jaffar rolled back one sleeve so Kyle could get a look at his sticklike arms.

“Alright. I’ll talk to Brecken and tell him you’re onboard.”

“Good, great. Now if you don’t have any food to give us, please leave. I need to lie down.”

About a block back, Kyle pulled out his radio.

“Signals? 102.”

“Hey, 102.”

“How’s everything doing without the boosters?”

“Crystal clear. Thanks!”

“So listen, Jaffar’s onboard. Everyone west of the Caldera is huddled in the Wheelstation. There… aren’t many of them anymore.”

“How many?”

“Fifteen. Total.”

Signals whistled through her teeth. “Wow. Still, that’s great news, I’ll put them on the list. Be safe out there!”

“Yeah, I’m only an hour out from a safehouse.”

He climbed a pole to have a quick look around. Rais’s generous expenditure of bullets had been totally undone after the Tower had pushed most of their dead outside their borders. He felt a slight twinge of guilt.

He made his way as well as possible from building to building. A two-flat a few blocks from the garden had the front door smashed in, but no sign of the Infected. He ducked inside for some shade, wiping sweat off his face, and pulled out his radio.

“Crane?”

No answer. He was probably unconscious. Definitely not dead. Definitely.

There was a very slight noise from upstairs. He wasn’t sure what had made it jump to the forefront of his brain, but it had. Something about it was wrong. _Stealthy_. He frowned and started moving toward the street.

Then something darkish and incredibly fast burst down the door and leapt the full length of the stairs at him. He was stumbling, screaming, onto the street before he fully registered what was going on. A second later he processed an impression of silver eyes and big claws. A nightmare.

It beat itself against the intangible wall of sunlight separating it from Kyle. He hauled himself up, panting, and shaded his eyes. Pustules broke open all over the Volatile’s face as its jawbone parted in the middle and it bellowed impotently at him. The spikes jutting from its skin were still leaking black blood. It must have only freshly transformed from a Feral, possibly even earlier today.

He took several steps backward. The Volatile roared again, and drew back as its skin began to smoke.

“No, no, shhh, shhhh!”

And then higher-pitched voices answered.

“Oh, _shit_.”

He hauled himself up on the roof with shaking hands. He was okay, stay calm. Stay calm, he could see the safehouse in the distance, he could make it. The sun was going down. As he hurled himself onto the next roof, the Volatile gave a howl of pure rage.

He landed, stumbled, pulled himself up, and kept going. Panic was making his chest hitch, but he eased himself through it as best he could. Pretty soon, the adrenaline had loosened his lungs back up. Gotta pace himself. He forced himself down to a jog. Only four more blocks, then two. Not so bad. The Ferals were maybe one, two buildings behind.

He was gonna make it.

Assuming he didn’t trip.

The sun was dipping below the horizon and he was heaving great breaths as he scrabbled up the side of the chain-link. The Ferals were at the bottom of the fence. He could feel the rattling getting closer. The stars were starting to come out.

The deep screaming started. The nightmares were loose.

“Crane!” he shouted, clambering over the other side of the garden fence as the Ferals tried to gnaw his fingers. “Crane! Ow! God, get off!”

He let go with both hands, ready to fall into the pile of cushioning at the bottom and risk a cracked rib or two, but they seized handfuls of his clothes. He heard the sound of ripping cloth.

He beat at the fence with his palms uselessly. “Please don’t be dead,” he whispered to himself. “A little help here?!”

The door opened and Crane staggered out. He raised a silenced handgun. Kyle squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. He heard three spaced-out pops. He did not feel any of his organs explode.

He opened his eyes. The Ferals were lying at the bottom of the fence, their heads blown apart. He unhooked his shirt from the top of the gap.

“Thanks,” he panted as he finally met solid ground again.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks for not shooting me.”

The Volatile from earlier slammed against the fence, screaming as the UV lights scorched its skin. They both took a step back as one of the poles threatened to give out.

Crane determinedly shambled past. “Inside.”

“How are you?” Kyle asked as he hit the inside lights and set the bar on the door.

Crane nodded. “Better for now. Had two seizures and passed out for a bit. I thought I was going to turn.” Kyle noticed a jump rope secured to a pipe next to the bed.

“Jaffar’s is onboard, they’ll be coming to the Tower tomorrow.”

His satphone beeped.

“Oh, hold on, this is gonna be important.” He put it to his ear. “Kyle Crane.”

“Good evening, Kyle. I’m glad to say,” and his heart turned to ice and dropped into his bowels, “that the board likes your suggestion.”

He waved wildly in Crane’s direction and hopped around, mouthing silent gibberish.

“We’re discussing it with the Ministry at the moment. I think Colonel Taner will be agreeable. The Slums have long been a haven for disease, and an impediment to the Harrani Government’s planned revitalizations. He has many reasons to want the remaining refugees evacuated so that the area can be sterilized as soon as possible. Press coverage on our announcement has been mixed, to say the least, but that’s the best we could have hoped for in an ugly situation like this.”

“Still,” Kyle found his throat closing up. “Still, that’s fantastic!”

“Yes. We will be conducting infrared drone scans of the Slums in the next few days to ensure that nobody is missed before final evacuation. We will also be getting in touch with Harris Brecken. We have no further objectives for you at the time aside from assisting as much as possible with the roundup. Your local administrator will know how best to make that happen.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“We have to toe the line very carefully, Kyle. Global interest has risen to peak proportions again with this scandal. Funding is flowing back in, but we can’t say for how long. The evacuation needs to happen by the end of the week. And we can’t do anything that could possibly be seen as improprietous. So I’m afraid we cannot allow you out of Harran yet, despite all you’ve done for us. You’ll have to go to Old Town with the rest of them.”

“No, absolutely, yes. That’s fine. I’m fine with that. And if people aren’t infected yet, will you be able to send them home?”

“They will need to go to a clinic for two weeks of isolation and observation. But yes, after that they will be able to go home. And just so we’re clear, your basic directives have not changed. Under no circumstances are you to reveal the circumstances of your employment or your relation to Crane Pharma to anyone.”

“Yeah, no, you got it. Thank you. Talk later.”

“Have a good evening, Kyle.”

Crane stretched. “What’d she say?”

Kyle grabbed him by the shoulders. “They’re taking us to Old Town!”

“The GRE?”

“I convinced them to fly everybody there. They can set us down right on top of a high building.”

Crane blinked. “That’s great news.”

“Yes! All I need to do is float around helping with the evac, and definitely totally still keep it super secret that I’m working for them and all that.”

“And you’re doing a great job.”

“I’m the best! Oh, man, this has been a crazy day.”

“Hmm.” Crane lay on his back. “Two points of interest.”

“What’s wrong?”

“First. They’ll know your cover’s blown as soon as they see me. Second.” A flash crossed his face. “Actually.”

He pulled out his radio and started flipping through channels.

“This is Runner dyad 102 and 108, at the garden at the edge of the secured zone. If the Revenant’s around, could it stop by?”

He paused, listening for an answer. Signals came on instead. “It says yes, it’s right nearby.”

“Alright, thank you. Good night, good luck.”

“You too.”

Crane set the radio down on a crate and lay back down.

“Those were thoughts,” said Kyle. “What were those thoughts?”

“Well, we can’t let them get their hands on the Revenant. It needs to get out of here. Then I was thinking that it can probably escape the Slums through the tunnels, which were never fully blocked off. And if it’s going that way, it may as well try to take me too, since this helicopter plan would be a very bad idea for both of us.”

“That was a lot of thinking in couple of seconds,” said Kyle, looking at the disconnect behind Crane’s eyes.

He shrugged. “It comes and goes.”

Kyle started searching through his duffel, and found it empty of food. “Is there any dinner?”

“We have water.”

“You know what, I will _take_ that.” He opened the bottle and chugged it.

Crane closed his eyes. “Drink all that, then sleep on your front. It helps.”

“Man, that’s like, a street urchin thing. Gonna give me tips about going through dumps next?”

“Never done it.”

Kyle took another sip of water, but all of a sudden it tasted foul. “I saw that in… well, not here. Much, much poorer country than Harran. Children as young as five, coated in slime, washing muck off bread they fished out of a dump.”

“That’s fucking horrible.”

“Well, seeing the disaster zones and the impoverished districts isn’t fun. Neither is being infected with zombie disease. But hey,” and Kyle forced a smile and his mood lifted again, “I’m here to do good work. Maybe after I’m done here the GRE will send me somewhere easy. Getting a cat out of a tree, maybe. You can come with and be my shirtless assistant. I’m sure the ladies would like what’s left of your hot bod.”

Crane chuckled disbelievingly, but there was warmth in it.

There was a rattling sound like a rock had hit the fence. Then another. Kyle took a peek out the window. The Volatile had moved on, so he went to the breaker and flashed the UVs.

He glanced back. Crane nodded to him and stood. He was definitely looking less weak. Kyle slid the bar off the door.

The Revenant dropped weightlessly to the ground and came toward them, silhouetted by the harsh lights.

Kyle blinked when he saw how human its face was. Its skin was clear. The small bone spikes growing along its scalp and the serrated edge of its jaw was pure Volatile, as were its silver eyes. It had a predatory physique, moving with light darting motions like a great bird. Its nails were strong and curved like climbing hooks. Its arms split at the shoulder; two of them were crossed protectively over its chest while the other pair hung at its sides. One hand stayed close to a nine millimeter in a holster. Kyle was pleased to see that despite being dead it was still a southpaw, like him.

Crane moved closer to Kyle, also keeping one hand on his gun.

“Hi. I’m Kyle. Glad you could stop by so quickly. Why don’t you… come inside?” He wasn’t sure if it understood, but it followed him when he moved. As soon as it was inside, Crane protectively sat down on the cot.

Kyle gestured to the rug. “Pull up some floor, we need to talk.”

The Revenant sat. It made an odd cooing sound, displaying an abnormally stretchy tongue. It had three rows of teeth. Emotions that he could not identify as human flicked across its face; maybe it was wondering what he’d taste like. It glanced toward the lights out the window and twitched.

“ _Ah ah ah_ …” it said, plopping a satchel on its lap and pulling out a chocolate bar. The sound was breathy and oddly mournful. It offered him the bar.

“Thanks,” he said gratefully, and swallowed his half in one bite. Crane had a suspicious look on his face, but hunger overtook him too.

The Revenant watched it all with gleaming silver eyes. Its face twitched aggressively as it watched them chew. It scraped its teeth against its calloused lips, producing a gentle rasping sound.

It reached into a pocket and withdrew a notebook. It wrote a little and passed the paper across. Kyle was relieved to see it was in Arabic, which he could actually read.

“The Tower is going to be moving.”

It shifted on the rug while he explained. It was hard to tell what kind of intelligence was behind those eyes. It extended a feline leg and flexed its long toes, causing its talons and opposable claw to all scrape against each other with a sound like knives being sharpened. Its gaze wandered about the room as though following invisible entities.

When he was finished, it wrote, _What do you need me for?_

“I… just thought you ought to know. And maybe you’d have an idea about how to get Crane there.”

_I kill. I scavenge. I steal. I don’t make good plans._

“I thought you and Rahim made a plan to clear out that short high-rise near the plaza.”

The silver eyes flicked sideways. _An idea. Not the same as a plan. Rahim was infected, with nightmare blood. My fault. Don’t want to hurt anyone else._

“Then I won’t take your advice if it’s bad. But I want to hear anyway. You know the underground better.”

_Infamy Bridge._

Kyle shook his head. “Military blows anything leaving the harbor. And the Bridge is swarming with Ferals. I mean, you know how the fresh vectors are. They see anything human, and they just…”

Its face was unreadable. _Yes, I know_.

“Sorry.”

It shrugged.

“As usual, we’re stuck between two horrible alternatives. I hoped maybe having, well, an Infected on our team might open up a third option.”

 _We’re all infected_.

“You know what I mean.”

It hesitated, looking tense, and scribbled, _Know a few routes. But very dark, too dangerous. Has to happen in the middle of the night. When they’re all out on the streets._

Kyle went cold.

Crane looked like he’d been expecting that. “I can coat myself in zombie guts so they don’t smell me. It’ll keep longer in damp air. We can walk right through.”

_You’ll get bites like Rahim._

“If a cure’s really around the corner, I’m okay with that. And if not, Kyle will be able to deal with me. I’d rather that than having to worry about a target on my back from the GRE or whoever takes their place. I’d think you’d feel the same.”

It jiggled anxiously. _If I must._ _Don’t like it. You better be good in tight spaces._

“No complaints yet,” said Crane, and cracked an uncharacteristically shy grin.

The Revenant stared blankly. Kyle punched him in the shoulder.

“I have met _a_ woman,” said Crane somewhat defensively. “I may in fact have a passing familiarity with them.”

“You _may_ , huh?” Kyle was grinning.

“In small quantities.”

The Revenant waved its notebook to get their attention. _Must go ASAP. Tonight if possible_. _Before they start surveilling everything. Gonna have to move all my caches._

Crane stood. “I can go right now.”

“Jesus.” Kyle put a hand on his arm. Crane’s skin felt less feverish than it had this morning. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Going slow and quiet is much more my thing. I did it for months. The tunnels will be empty. Street level’ll be the dangerous part.”

Kyle eyed him doubtfully. “Are you strong enough to run away if they see you?”

Crane shook him off. “I’ll be _fine_ , Kyle. Just deal with keeping things looking good for the GRE.”

“Looking good is what I do best.”

He started buckling on his climbing rig. “Your lies demean us both.”

“I also think you might need this.” Kyle pulled the blue and white helmet out of his bag.

“Thanks, but frankly if they see me, my ticket’s punched no matter what. Wait.” Crane squinted at it. “Is that a GRE helmet?”

“Personal LiDAR scanner. Could be helpful if you’re in the sewers and can’t see shit.”

He eased it on. There were a few very quiet electronic sounds from inside. He pulled it off again. “Sold. How much do I owe you?”

Kyle shrugged. “You gotta take me to lunch when this is over. Someplace fancy in the Business District. No Bloody Chic Poncho allowed.”

Crane raised his eyebrows, and lifted the corners of his mouth in a rare actual expression. “I’ll take that bet.”

“It’s not a bet. It’s a fucking guarantee. See you in Old Town.”

The Revenant loped outside, staring up at the sky. Crane raised his hand in a little salute before shutting the door.

“See you soon.”


End file.
